Dear August,
We are all idiots.
I cannot tell you how to get x when Gerald has 20 apples and an isosceles triangle inside an oval with forty oranges inside it is about to experience spontaneous combustion.
Even if I got it right on a test way-back-when, I could not tell you each phase of mitosis in order. I know telophase is at the end (I almost called it telekinesis).
I cannot give you an equation or really an explanation for gravity and how it does its thing.
I cannot cook without following a recipe exactly.
But we are also all geniuses.
I can discuss every ounce of the books I love if I allowed myself to put you through that. I can connect them to each other. I can connect them to the world. I can connect them to me. I could probably connect them to a triangle if I wanted to.
I can explain to you how to treat certain illnesses and injuries. I can spew out home remedies and little tricks to make your ailments a little easier to bare.
I can go on and on about feelings and loving others.
I can make whip up some mean homemade brownies.
I am an English major, but I was not an English major initially. I was on the pre-med route and just minoring in English when I started university. People listened when I told them that.
"I want to be a pediatric cardiologist," I would say.
Their eyes would light up and their mouths would spew out every word of admiration possible. They thought I must be some sort of genius for wanting to pursue such a career, but oh how the tone changed once I decided my real dream of working in the industry of imagination; working with books for the rest of my life.
"So, what are you studying!"
"English!"
"Oh...And what exactly do you want to do with that?"
"BE HAPPY WITH MY FRIENDS THAT JUST HAPPEN TO BE BOOKS THANK YOU."
Minus that last part, that's how the conversation usually goes and it ends shortly after that with a feeling of discomfort and -- you guessed it -- inadequacy on my part.
I went from genius to idiot faster than I could even realize it was happening.
Apparently, in the world's eyes, books are smart to read, but never to make your living. I let it bug me sometimes, but then I realize I'm doing what makes me happy and that's all that really matters.
I had such a difficult first Fall semester. My sciences were difficult, my G.E.'s were hard, my English class was hard, but at the end of the day, I was still madly in love with my English class. The 5068695 pages to read each night and the obnoxiousness of some of the theorists made me want to throw up sometimes, but holy crap did I love it. I knew the reaction I would receive when I made such a switch, but I knew what would make me happy and the Lord confirmed when I went to Him asking if this is what I should be doing with my life. No one was super thrilled, but I was over the moon. (I know you said you wanted me to do what I thought was best, mom, but I know you were really excited for all those letters that would have been at the end of my name if I stayed on the pre-med route.)
I still love the world of medicine and caring for the sick and afflicted. I love that kind of service. I still love learning about the human body and how beautifully it works, but I couldn't do it for the rest of my life. It is not my genius, but I am not stupid. That took me a long time to figure out for myself. No one is stupid. We are each geniuses in our own right. It is so incredible how different we all are and how each of us can be so smart in so many different ways.
Math and I broke up just about eighth grade, maybe ninth. Science and I have a complicated relationship, but oh, how I love my English and cherish my History. I am so grateful for the gifts that I do have, even if the world does not acknowledge them as such. God gave me a mind that craves words and nostalgia, and I am going to try to live to be worthy of the gifts that that entails.
I am a genius in my own ways, and so are you.
Love,
Jazmin
We are all idiots.
I cannot tell you how to get x when Gerald has 20 apples and an isosceles triangle inside an oval with forty oranges inside it is about to experience spontaneous combustion.
Even if I got it right on a test way-back-when, I could not tell you each phase of mitosis in order. I know telophase is at the end (I almost called it telekinesis).
I cannot give you an equation or really an explanation for gravity and how it does its thing.
I cannot cook without following a recipe exactly.
But we are also all geniuses.
I can discuss every ounce of the books I love if I allowed myself to put you through that. I can connect them to each other. I can connect them to the world. I can connect them to me. I could probably connect them to a triangle if I wanted to.
I can explain to you how to treat certain illnesses and injuries. I can spew out home remedies and little tricks to make your ailments a little easier to bare.
I can go on and on about feelings and loving others.
I can make whip up some mean homemade brownies.
I am an English major, but I was not an English major initially. I was on the pre-med route and just minoring in English when I started university. People listened when I told them that.
"I want to be a pediatric cardiologist," I would say.
Their eyes would light up and their mouths would spew out every word of admiration possible. They thought I must be some sort of genius for wanting to pursue such a career, but oh how the tone changed once I decided my real dream of working in the industry of imagination; working with books for the rest of my life.
"So, what are you studying!"
"English!"
"Oh...And what exactly do you want to do with that?"
"BE HAPPY WITH MY FRIENDS THAT JUST HAPPEN TO BE BOOKS THANK YOU."
Minus that last part, that's how the conversation usually goes and it ends shortly after that with a feeling of discomfort and -- you guessed it -- inadequacy on my part.
I went from genius to idiot faster than I could even realize it was happening.
Apparently, in the world's eyes, books are smart to read, but never to make your living. I let it bug me sometimes, but then I realize I'm doing what makes me happy and that's all that really matters.
I had such a difficult first Fall semester. My sciences were difficult, my G.E.'s were hard, my English class was hard, but at the end of the day, I was still madly in love with my English class. The 5068695 pages to read each night and the obnoxiousness of some of the theorists made me want to throw up sometimes, but holy crap did I love it. I knew the reaction I would receive when I made such a switch, but I knew what would make me happy and the Lord confirmed when I went to Him asking if this is what I should be doing with my life. No one was super thrilled, but I was over the moon. (I know you said you wanted me to do what I thought was best, mom, but I know you were really excited for all those letters that would have been at the end of my name if I stayed on the pre-med route.)
I still love the world of medicine and caring for the sick and afflicted. I love that kind of service. I still love learning about the human body and how beautifully it works, but I couldn't do it for the rest of my life. It is not my genius, but I am not stupid. That took me a long time to figure out for myself. No one is stupid. We are each geniuses in our own right. It is so incredible how different we all are and how each of us can be so smart in so many different ways.
Math and I broke up just about eighth grade, maybe ninth. Science and I have a complicated relationship, but oh, how I love my English and cherish my History. I am so grateful for the gifts that I do have, even if the world does not acknowledge them as such. God gave me a mind that craves words and nostalgia, and I am going to try to live to be worthy of the gifts that that entails.
I am a genius in my own ways, and so are you.
Love,
Jazmin
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